


gushin' drippin' slippin' down your thighs

by ToAStranger



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Come Inflation, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Kinda, M/M, Overstimulation, Prompt Fill, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 20:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: Billy gets hit with something from the Upside Down.  Steve has to handle the fall out.





	gushin' drippin' slippin' down your thighs

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this like, eight months ago. Way before season 3 was even teased? But I kept getting hung up on it. So, it takes place in a reality without season 3 or before season 3 or something. 
> 
> Dubious Consent because obvious sex pollen reasons. 
> 
> Not the best ending? Mostly I just wanted it out of my drafts.

The fight was long and hard and bloody. 

Steve’s still high on adrenaline and _ fear _ . He’s rank with it, even after he dragged Billy out of the Upside Down, still sputtering and covered in _ slime _. Even after El stitched the open gateway shut-- there’s been so many of them, more and more, ripping open here and there all over town, like the space between their world and the other was growing thinner and thinner-- and they all packed it up for the night. 

Even after Steve insisted on hauling Billy back to his place, usually a tradition after _ patrols _, where they frequently cracked a couple of beers and shot the shit for a while after they showered. 

They’re showered and changed now. Cleaned up, residue from that horrible, decaying place scrubbed clean from their skin. But Billy hasn’t gone for the beer in the fridge the way he usually does. 

That’s their tradition. Ever since Billy stumbled across the mess Steve and the kids and Jonathan and Nancy and everyone else are always trying to cover up when things started tilting sideways again, Billy’s been stuck to them like glue. Eager to fight, happy to enjoy the spoils. 

Usually, that’s booze and maybe some weed at Steve’s house for a long, quiet night after they’re done patroling or hunting or fighting off the hoards of the underworld. 

But Billy’s not boozing it up, now. He’s sitting there, on the couch, in a pair of spare clothes he keeps at Steve’s, boots and belt and all, like he’s planning on bolting, and staring blindly forward at the TV. He’s flush, sweating, and Steve wonders if he scrubbed too hard in the shower. 

Steve did. He would’ve scrubbed until he bled if he’d been covered in whatever fucked up concoction Billy had gotten spewed all over him. 

“Billy?” Steve calls out, standing in the doorway, scrubbing at his hair with a towel. “You okay, man?” 

“Sure,” Billy says, but he doesn’t quite sound like he believes himself. His voice is rough, like it's pollen season -- and hell, maybe it is. Maybe he swallowed some of that gross junk and it coated his throat like ragweed. 

“Are you _ actually _ sure?” Steve asks, padding closer, dipping his head and craning his body over to try and catch his gaze. 

“No,” Billy says, and _ that’s _ a surprise, because Billy’s always posturing, always acting like he’s fine, even when he’s not. “Don’t feel so hot. No -- I, uh, feel -- I feel _ really _ hot.”

Steve’s lips press thin and he feels something tighten in his stomach and his chest. He recognizes it as panic and breathes through it, stepping closer, and dropping his towel so that he can reach out and press the back of his hand to Billy’s forehead. 

“Jesus,” Steve breathes, eyes a little wide. “Billy, man, you’re burning up.” 

Steve goes to pull his hand back, but Billy leans into it, mouth half open in something like a groan.

“So fuckin’ warm.”

“Do-- Do you need me to get you anything?” Steve asks, and instantly hates how high his voice pitches. “I should get you some water. Soup? Do you need soup? Should I call Hop?” 

There’s a noise. It takes Steve way too long to realize it’s coming from Billy, from his throat -- a _ whine _.

Billy’s still for a moment, unmoving, before he pushes himself away from Steve’s hand and peels off his shirt in one fluid movements.

“I just need a minute.”

“You need to break your fever,” Steve tells him, a bit frantic, grabbing for a throw that’s hanging over the back of the couch and tugging it around Billy’s shoulders. “And water. I’m gonna get you water. And then I’m gonna drag you to bed. Okay? Okay.” 

Billy _ groans _ . “I need --” Billy says, and then he’s up, pushing himself up from the couch, a little wobbly on his feet. And he’s _ sweating _. “Bed. I need bed. Sounds good.”

“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” Steve nods, throat working, and he’s hesitant to touch him-- to give him something to brace against on the way up the stairs-- but he does anyway, after pulling the blanket tighter over Billy’s shoulders, wrapping his arm around his back and guiding him. “C’mon, buddy. You lay down and I’ll, uh… I’ll give Joyce a call and figure out what to do.” 

Billy, surprisingly, leans into Steve like he needs the support. It has Steve grunting a little with the effort, with the sheer weight Billy’s putting on him.

He would’ve thought Billy would try and fake it till he made it for as long as possible. Not just -- go down without a fight.

But he’s still got some fight left, because he wraps his arm around Steve’s torso and squeezes at his side. “No. No one else.”

Steve frowns, rubbing at Billy’s shoulder through the blanket as they make a slow trek up the stairs. “Okay. No one else. Unless you get worse. And then, _ definitely _ someone else.” 

They’re halfway up the stairs when Billy stops, wobbling a little. 

And then he’s fumbling, yanking the blanket off and leaning up against Steve again before he just falls down. Breathing out a heavy sigh. No -- actually -- actually just breathing _ hard _, continuously. 

Panting, actually. 

Steve goes to his knees next to him, hands fluttering uselessly for a second, before settling one on his back and rubbing what he hopes are soothing circles. 

“Billy? Hey, c’mon, look at me.” Steve says, coaxing, throat going a little tight when Billy’s muscles bunch under his touch. “C’mon, man, I need you to look at me because we gotta get up these stairs because you’re kinda in shitty shape and I can’t just leave you here-- so I really need you to work with me, here, so I can get you some better fucking help than _ me _\--” 

Billy’s fingers clutch uselessly at the fabric of Steve’s clothes. Pulling, tugging. 

“Don’t want anybody but you,” Billy says, voice rough, nearly garbled.

Steve feels totally _ useless _. 

“Fuck, um…” Steve finds himself nodding, pulling at Billy’s waist to try and get him on his feet, grunting at the dead weight of him. “Okay. Just me. But we have to get you to _ bed _.” 

“Carry me?” Billy asks, and for a _ second _ Steve thinks he’s actually fucking lost it, because _ Billy Hargrove _ doesn’t ask for shit like that.

But then Billy’s crawling up the stairs like a goddamn dog, sweaty and grunting and determined, like the only place he’ll agree to being is _ bed _, apparently. 

“Alright, _ no _.” Steve says, ducking down, getting his head under Billy’s arm and his own arm around Billy’s waist. “Up we go.” 

He hauls Billy to his feet, swaying with him there for a second until he slaps a hand on the banister and steadies them out. Huffing, Steve tugs Billy closer, grin more like a grimace when Billy looks at him with dazed, feverish eyes. 

“Hold on, okay?” 

And while Steve’s always had a couple inches on Billy, he knows who carries the bulk of muscle. Steve’s fast-- built for it, for being quick on his feet-- but Billy’s like a fucking _ wall _ of muscle. Brute force. Built up on years and years of upkeep. 

But Steve’s strong enough to scoop him up. Jostling him a little, back _ maybe _ protesting from not using his goddamn knees like he knows he should, and then carrying Billy right up the stairs and toward the closest room-- _ Steve’s _room. 

He’s quick to set him on the bed. Quick to grab the blanket at the foot of the bed and try and cover Billy up with it. Quick to crouch down and work at the laces of Billy’s boots, peeling them off. 

“Gotta break your fever, okay? I know you’re hot, but you gotta sweat it out or something.” 

Billy bats the blanket off with flailing arms. Like he can’t stand the touch of it on his skin.

Which becomes way more apparent when, after Steve’s got Billy’s shoes off, Billy starts working on his belt. On the button on his jeans. With steadfast fucking determination. 

“Billy--” Steve tries to reach out, tries to stop him, because he knows that fevers can trick you like that. “Billy, c’mon, _ stop _\--” 

“I’m so fucking _ hot _ , Steve. So fucking _ uncomfortable _.” He gets the button, finally, with clumsy fingers, and then works the zipper down. 

And then he’s leaning back, wriggling out of his fucking jeans on Steve’s bed.

“Feel trapped,” Billy says. “Feel like I’m burning up.”

That’s not the only thing Billy is. 

Blood rushes to Steve’s face and neck and ears. He clears his throat and pointedly looks away from the tent in Billy’s boxers.

“Um,” Steve laughs a little, half hysteric, heart tripping over in his chest because Billy Hargrove is very nearly naked, sweating, and hard in his bed and-- he _ really _ doesn’t know what to do with that. “Okay, _ well _ , that _ sucks _ \-- but if there’s one thing I know about fevers, it’s that you gotta stay _ warm _anyways--” 

Billy grunts, kicking the jeans off his legs until he’s totally free. 

He gets his socks, peeling off those with the grace of an absolutely _ hammered _ person.

And then, his attention focuses on his boxers.

Like he’s not even paying attention to Steve at all.

The boxers come off, too. 

Steve can only watch as they fall into a puddle on the ground. He’s not _ looking _, but he can hear Billy panting, hard and heavy, from the bed.

“Oh, my god.” Steve says, voice coming like it’s _ kicked _ out of him, when he hears Billy _ groan _ \-- and his eyes are skyward, but he slaps a hand over them anyway. “ _ Billy! _” 

Billy just grunts, and then groans again, but _ louder _ this time. And yeah, okay, maybe Steve can hear him shuffling on the bed, can hear the sound of skin against skin. 

Like he doesn’t even _ care _ that Steve is _ right here _. 

“What are you _ doing _ ?” Steve asks-- but it’s a stupid question because he _ knows _ what Billy’s doing. “Jesus-- Nevermind. I’m just, uh… I’m gonna leave you to it--” 

But Steve’s not looking.

So he doesn’t even see Billy’s hand rushing out to grab at Steve’s wrist.

“Don’t go.”

“Billy,” Steve croaks, feels how _ hot _ Billy’s hand is against his skin, fingers digging in at his rapid pulse.

And then he _ looks _ at him. Which is a mistake. A big, giant mistake. 

Because Billy is half propped up on the bed. Still hard, still pumping over his cock with his other hand, still panting and sweating and _ gorgeous _ in the dim light that filters in through Steve’s window. 

Heat rushes straight to Steve’s groin. 

“Billy,” he says again, not pulling away, but holding his gaze carefully; steadily. “You have a _ fever _. You don’t know what you’re doing.” 

It’s _ really _ difficult to not let his eyes drift to Billy’s hand.

“_ Please _,” Billy says, and he’s practically whining. “‘M so hard. So hard it hurts. I just need -- I just need to come.”

Like it’s no big. Like he’s not _ jacking off _ while holding onto Steve, while holding eye contact. 

Steve wets his lips, voice failing him, but he doesn’t pull away. Stays there, on his knees, holding Billy’s gaze while he jerks off.

It’s probably one of the most strangely erotic things Steve’s ever witnessed. 

It doesn’t take long before he can see it in Billy’s eyes. They get dark. His breathing gets a little more ragged. More erratic.

Billy’s face, when he comes, crumples up in pleasure, going soft, slack. 

Steve’s throat works as he shifts. He’s half hard, in his sweats, and he doesn’t exactly want Billy to _ see _. Not when this is all probably a fevered haze from whatever got him in the Upside Down. 

But he can’t deny that he’s _ aroused _ . That he’s thrumming with it. That, when his gaze finally strays to where he’s been trying _ not to look _, and he sees Billy’s hand still wrapped around himself, cock shiny and dripping with come, he feels his own dick jump a little. 

He looks away, quick.

“Um,” Steve breathes. “Are you-- Are you good, now?” 

“_ Uhh _,” Billy says. And when Steve looks at him, he’s staring down, face twisted up a little in confusion.

He looks down again, where Billy’s looking, at Billy’s dick, at his hand, at his stomach, coated in come.

And okay. He maybe sees what’s got Billy all confused. 

Because -- that’s a _ lot _ of come.

It’s dripping down his stomach, coating his hand. It’s thick and opaque and fucking _ everywhere _. 

“Billy?” Steve says, trying to catch his gaze again, trying to just make sure he’s _ okay _\-- and he makes the mistake of touching his knee with his free hand to try and get his attention. 

Billy jolts. And then he moans. When Billy finally looks back, his eyes are dark. Nearly all pupil. 

“_ Steve _.”

Steve very nearly jerks his hand back. Knows he probably _ should _ . Knows that this is _ all kinds of wrong _. 

But he doesn’t. Keeps his hand there. Squeezes at the muscle above his knee. Shuffles around a little. 

“Billy,” he says. “You gotta tell me what’s going on with you, okay? I need to know how to help. How do I _ help _?” 

Billy seems to relax the more Steve touches. Muscles going loose, looking less pained. 

“I can't stop thinking about -- _fuck,_” Billy says, panting, and for a moment there's a hint of known frustration there. The indignant fire that is the Billy Steve knows. And then it's gone. “Can't stop thinking about _fucking_ _you_.”

Steve stills. Steve _ shudders _. 

“I can’t--” Steve clears his throat, past the tightness there. “I can’t, uh… I don’t know if you’re joking or if you’re serious or if you’re just messed up in the head, right now, Billy.” 

“Wanna fill you up,” Billy says, which isn't much of a help at all. 

His hand’s back on his dick, now, but he's being slow about it. Pushing the come over himself, using it as lube. 

Steve feels a little _ dizzy _ . He can’t actually believe this is _ happening _. That Billy’s saying the shit he’s saying while stroking himself with a steady, sure hand. 

And Steve doesn’t remember him even getting _ soft _. 

_ Jesus _. 

“Billy, _ please _ ,” Steve says, voice wobbling, pulling his wrist free. “I need to know you aren’t gonna _ hate me _ if I help you.” 

“Feel like I'm gonna _ die _ if you don't help me.”

And he can't be _ serious _, right? He's just turned on. 

“You’re not gonna _ die _ ,” Steve tells him, but he isn’t _ sure _.

Doesn’t know _ what _ half the shit from the Upside Down can do. 

So, he wets his lips, a nervous energy thrumming through him, and he shuffles a little closer on his knees. 

“What--” he sighs, closing his eyes for a second, because he can’t _ believe _ he’s doing this. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Lemme fill you up?”

Not even a hint of hesitation. 

Steve blinks a few times. “Okay. _ How _?” 

“Wanna fuck you,” Billy says, like he _ isn't _ suggesting something absolutely absurd. Hand in his dick, eyes still trained on Steve. “Just wanna -- _ so _ fucking bad. It _ hurts _, Steve.”

Steve grunts, stomach twisting up. “Okay. _ Okay _ . It'll stop hurting soon, promise. Just tell me what to _ do _.”

Billy grunts, like it's too hard, like he can't think. Like he can't even begin to explain. 

“C’mere,” he slurs. “On the bed.”

Steve takes a shuddering breath. He hesitates for a moment, on his knees, and then pushes to his feet and crawls onto the bed with him, half hovering over the top of him as Billy keeps jacking off.

He doesn't expect Billy to get an arm around him, doesn't expect Billy to pull him close, Billy's mouth going for Steve's neck. 

“Feels so good. You, close like this.”

Underneath him, Billy is shaking. 

Steve's probably shaking, too. 

He lets out a strangled, half moan of a sound. He shudders again, falling into him. 

Flounders for a second, feeling like an awkward weight on Billy even as he hauls him closer.

Billy's breath is so_ hot _ . So _ wet _ on his skin. It makes Steve's pulse _ pound _. 

“Hurt a little less?”

“Kinda,” Billy says. “It's just --” and then he groans, and he's still touching himself, even though Steve's lying on top of him. Just bucking into his hand and then rutting against Steve's belly, _ uncaring _. “It's all I can think about. I'm fucking -- burning with it.”

Steve feels kinda similar. It's a little bit arousal and a lot like embarrassment. 

“Um,” Steve clears his throat, breath rushing out of him when Billy's teeth graze his pulse. “Will it help if I touch you?”

Billy laughs and it's a loud, strange thing. Like he's nervous, like he's feverish, like he's not totally _ there _. 

“Try,” he says. “_ Please _.”

“Okay,” Steve says, shifting, wiggling a hand between them, swallowing thick as he touches Billy's hand where it's moving. “Just… tell me if it works.”

He lifts up a bit, so he's not smothering him, and starts _ stroking _. Uses a light touch until Billy bucks, and then grips him like he'd grip himself. 

Billy groans, loud. He lets go, getting both arms around Steve, hands pulling, grabbing at his clothes. Like he's trying to pull Steve closer. 

“More,” Billy pants. “More, _ more.” _

Steve shivers, working over him faster. Steadier.

It doesn't take long before Billy's gone. His cock pulses as he comes, hot and hard in Steve's hand. Billy's face goes slack again, and his breath cuts out, like it _ hurts. _

Steve slows down. His sweats, his shirt, his_ whole hand _ is covered. His nose wrinkles up and he shifts to climb off of him, to let go.

Billy doesn't let him. 

“_ Steve.” _ His voice is a desperate whine. 

“Are you_ any _ better?” Steve asks, choking a little. “Please, tell me you feel a little better. I don't-- I don't know what to _ do _, here, Billy.”

“You said you'd _ help _ ,” Billy says. And he sounds like a fucking _ mess _ , more desperate than Steve's ever heard him. More pitiful than he ever thought Billy could _ sound _. “I need -- I gotta -- gotta fuck you. Gotta fill you up.”

“_ Jesus _ ,” Steve breathes, eyes squeezing shut, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't _ thought _ about Billy, wanted him, like this-- but it was never _ like this _ . “ _ Fuck me _ , then, _ jesus _.”

“Clothes,” Billy says, giving them a tug. 

Steve pulls back, yanking his shirt up and over his head. He tosses it aside and then flops over next to Billy on the bed, wiggling out of his sweats until they're caught around his ankles. 

Billy doesn't even give him a second. Just climbs on top of Steve and kneels between his legs, spreading them wide. 

“Lube?” Billy asks, hands splaying over Steve's thighs. So goddamn hot, he's burning up. 

Steve blinks, struck _ dumb _ , feeling like _ prey _under Billy's gaze. “Bedside drawer.”

“You ready?” Billy asks, as he's lubing up his fingers messily, uncoordinated. 

Not _ have you done this _ or _ do you want this _?

Steve spreads his thighs, _ shaking _, throat working. “Yeah. Yeah, just do it.”

Maybe Billy doesn't care. 

Maybe he can't bear to hear Steve say no, potentially, with how much it hurts. 

Steve doesn't know which it is, which doesn't exactly help, as Billy's fingers draw up the seam of him. No ceremony, no teasing. Just one finger pushing inside. 

Steve grunts. It doesn't _ hurt _ \-- it's too slick, too _ hot _ to hurt. But it's _ weird _. All pressure.

Billy's fingers slides in to the knuckle. He pumps it a couple times, slow, before he slides it out, and begins pushing two in. 

He's breathing hard and hot, wet in Steve's ear. 

Steve whines, jerking, the stretch a bit _ much. _ Like a _ lot _. 

His breath comes heavy and he clutches at Billy's shoulders. 

“S’okay,” Billy says, voice all rough. “I got you.”

Still with it enough to slow down. To ease the stretch. But not quite _ let up _. 

Steve rocks with it as he slides and stretches, nice and slow. Until he's used to it. Until it isn't burning and aching so much. 

“I'm okay,” Steve says, breathless, clinging at Billy's burning hot skin, staring up at his ceiling. “I'm okay.”

“Gonna give you more,” Billy says, and moves, removing his fingers for a moment before pressing them back in. Three, stretching Steve's hole, slicker than before. 

It takes him a second to realize Billy scraped some of the come off his belly and is using that to slick the way, to push inside. 

Steve groans, body twitching, mouth falling open, hips jerking. It's _ so much _. 

“_ Billy _,” he says, gasps. 

“S’okay,” Billy says, and he sounds _ drunk. “ _Got you. I got you.”

Steve feels something awful uncoil in him. Like an oil slick viper. Like _ guilt _. 

Billy's _ out of his mind _ . Steve knows he's _ helping _ but he can't help but feel like he's _ taking advantage. _

Billy presses more into him, fingers spreading and sliding deep. Steve moans, a little broken, shaking a bit as he pants and gasps. Pain and pleasure and pressure, all in one. 

“S'okay,” Billy says. “I got you. I _ need _ you.”

Steve keens, legs jerking, when Billy presses in deeper. His cock jumps against his belly and he gasps. 

“C'mon,” he says. “I know. Take me. I know you need it.”

Billy doesn't need to be told twice. 

He slides his fingers free. And then lines himself up. 

And presses in. 

It's more than Steve bargained for. The stretch, the pressure, the _heat_. 

He's stunned. Breath catching and totally stalling in his throat, body going taut under him as he's spread _ wide _ around him. 

Billy groans, loud. Pressing in and in until he’s seated all the way. No further to go. Arms wrapped tight around Steve until he starts moving. Hips rolling. 

Steve makes a desperate little sound, still spasming. Still twitching. Not ready for the movement. Eyes wide, his limbs useless, body shuddering and shivering beneath him. 

His throat works around another sound. Pulse fluttering and hands following. 

“I-- Billy--” Steve whines when Billy rocks in again, spasming around the girth of him. “Slow-- _ too much, slow-- _ slow down.”

Billy _ whines _. But he slows anyway. Presses his face into the heat of Steve's neck. Mouthing at the skin there. 

Steve groans, head falling back, arms draping over him, cradling him closer. Wrapping him up and letting him move as his body catches up with the new kinds of strain. 

Billy's hips shift slightly. Barely even moving. But it's enough to get him moaning like it's the best goddamn thing he's ever felt. 

“_ God _, Billy.” Steve says, head swimming. 

“Feel so good,” Billy says. Panting. 

Moving a little more. Grunting. Lips kissing at Steve's neck. 

“Uh huh,” Steve nods, hips rolling to meet him, fingers sinking into his hair and giving a little pull. “C'mere.”

“‘M right here,” Billy says, panting, _ groaning _. 

Thrusting harder. Taking _ more. _

Steve gasps out, over and over, head falling back and mouth open. Every time Billy drives in, it knocks the breath right out of him. Leaves him dizzy and senseless. An ache, a _ strain _, in his belly. 

He pulls at Billy's hair again. Tries to get him out of the crook of his neck. Wants to see the way his face crumbles when he falls apart again. 

Billy groans and goes where Steve puts him. 

He's just as gorgeous when his face crumples, when he comes, hips stuttering as he spills out into Steve.

Steve spits out a curse as Billy bucks into him. As he’s suddenly, overwhelmingly, filled with the slick, wet, _ heat _ of his spend. He groans as Billy ruts, coming and fucking his come deeper, twitching and spasming under him until Billy finally goes _ still _. 

Panting and flush, Steve pushes at Billy’s curls, gets them out of his face. He’s still hot to the touch, eyes still a little glazed, but he looks _ relieved _ . Looks _ drunk _ off of that relief. 

“Billy?” he asks, still hard, still breathless, still split wide on Billy’s cock. 

“Steve,” Billy says, and he sounds a little better. A little clearer and closer to who he _ is _. 

He rolls his hips a little, and moans. 

Steve’s breath hitches again. He feels constantly _ breathless _ . Feels overwhelmed by it all. The heat of Billy’s skin, Billy’s breath, Billy’s _ cock _ . The way he feels so _ wet _ . So _ dirty _. 

“You need more?” Steve asks, voice shaking a little, combing Billy’s hair back with his fingers, hunting over his face. 

“Are you --? Are you fine?” Billy asks, voice rough, palm sliding down Steve's back. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, shrugs, shifts a little under him. “Yeah, I’m-- You can keep going, if you need to. I’m okay.” 

“I can uh. Get you off. If you want, I just. Don't know how many _ times _ \--” Billy says, trailing off. “ _ Fuck _. Feel like I could go all night.”

Steve’s throat works; his face burns. “Yeah, uh… yeah. That’d be-- That’d be good.” 

When Billy rocks again, just to get a little deeper in the heat of him, groaning as Steve tightens up, Steve moans loud and long. Arches and gasps out, spine curving up. 

And then Billy touches his cock. Gets a wet hand on him, the one covered in lube and come, and strokes. Steve bucks and clenches up _ tighter, _ eyes rolling back, fingers digging in at Billy's back. Breathes out a string of curses-- _ fuck, fuck, ahh, Billy, fuck _\-- as Billy starts moving. Starts fucking into him again. 

Like he can't _ help _ it. 

Steve's jaw clenches tight and he whines, sweet and soft and low, drawn out as pleasure zips all along his nerves like raw, untethered electricity. 

When Steve comes, it’s hard and almost painful. He feels Billy _ so much _ when he clenches up through it, feels the ache of it all, breath wrenched right out of him as Billy ruts through it and follows after him. 

And if Billy’s hot, his come is _ hotter _ . Steve feels it, this time, sensitive the way he is. Feels Billy’s hips jerk, his cock pulse, his release pump deeper and _ deeper _ into him. 

“Ah, _ fuck _,” Steve says, head tossed back, panting, chest heaving. 

Billy groans, head hanging, body going heavy over him. And he’s still _ hard _. 

“_ Billy _ ,” Steve whines, twitching as Billy rubs _ Steve’s own come _ into his skin, as Billy kisses sloppily and wet at his neck. 

“Sorry,” Billy huffs, rutting still, groaning, _ whimpering _. “M’sorry, Steve, just-- please, I gotta. Just a little more.” 

Steve doesn’t know how he can _ go _ any _ more _ . But he’s sort of trapped there, beneath Billy’s weight, Billy’s cock still splitting his ass open. And it’s _ wild _ . And it’s _ hot _ . And it’s _ so wrong _. 

“_ Whatever _ ,” Steve says, still catching his breath. “Just-- Just _ gimme a minute _. Jesus.” 

But Billy's still _ rutting _ . Subtle, small rocks of his hips, cock big and hot and pulsing inside of him. Steve feels so _ full _ already. His nerves _ shot _.

He grunts as Billy bucks a little, hissing from above him, resting his forehead to Steve's as he pants. His hands are big where they find Steve's hips and dig in hard enough to _ bruise _ , tugging him closer with a sharp move that makes Steve _ yelp _ , like he's trying to get _ deeper _. 

“Billy-- _ Billy, wait _\--”

“I can't,” Billy pants, shaking his head, throat working and working, mouth trembling as he shifts-- pulling up onto his knees, dragging Steve with him. “I can't, I'm sorry, Steve-- I-- I _ gotta _ , need to have you, need to _ fill you _\--”

And Steve's knocked _ breathless _ as he uses his grip to pull Steve to meet him. As he starts _ fucking him _ , with an honest, swift pace-- _ brutal _. 

He's dizzy again, and gasping, reaching for Billy's hands with his own to try and pry them loose, squirming a little to get free. Billy bears his teeth at him in a snarl.

Snaps in _hard_, so that Steve cries out, and then does it again, and then does it _again. _

It _ hurts _ . Feels so _ good _ that it's _ agony. _ Renders Steve useless long enough for Billy to bury in and stuff him full with pump after pump of hot release as he spends himself inside again. 

Billy's gasping when he finishes. Eyes feverish and glassy as he places a hand over Steve's belly and Steve's head is still _ swimming _. 

“Billy,” he says, voice rough. “_ Please _.”

“It's not--” Billy's throat works, thumb dragging below his navel. “_ I'm sorry _ . It's not _ enough _.”

Billy's come inside of him _ three times _ . Steve's not sure how that _ isn't _ enough. 

Billy's hand shifts, though. Goes lower. Drags come and lube and sweat down to Steve's cock. He's half hard again, nerves burning, and he struggles when Billy gets his hand on him. 

“_ Shh _ ,” he says, batting Steve's hands away when he tries to get him to stop stroking him back to hardness. “Wanna-- lemme feel you come, again. Gets so _ tight, _ feels so _ good _, baby--”

“_ Billy _ \--” Steve jerks, tugging at Billy's wrist. “It's-- I _ can't _\--”

“You can, _ you can _ ,” Billy says, manic, and Steve's jaw locks as he doesn't _ stop _ . “Know you can. Wanna _ feel it _.”

Steve's eyes flutter, roll back, and he arches. Strains as Billy rubs under the head of him, as he strokes and pumps over his cock, quick and rough and slick. Jerks as his dick kicks in Billy's grip, pulses, and he clenches up. 

Billy _ groans _ . Ruts a little, keeps going, _ watching _the whole time.

It’s the duality of the sensation. Of Billy moving in him as he strokes over his cock. Of pleasure so good it _ aches _. 

Steve’s toes curl, a shout ripping right out of his throat as he comes. He spurts out over Billy’s hand, straining and pulling taut, shaking to pieces. Billy groans, long and low, and bucks in sharp and deep as Steve feels heat pump into him in thick gushes. 

It’s so much. It’s _ too much _. 

It leaves Steve dazed and panting as Billy slumps over him. As Billy licks Steve’s come from his fingers. As Billy kisses his cheek and pets at his stomach. 

Billy’s _ still hard _. 

When he starts rutting again, whispering about how good Steve feels, overwhelmed tears slide down the sides of Steve’s face. Billy hushes him, kisses them from his cheeks, and cradles him close as he rocks in and out of him.

“Sorry,” Billy rasps. “M’sorry, Steve. I promise-- promise I’m almost done. You’re-- god, you’re so perfect. Just a little more, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“S’okay,” Steve mumbles, petting at Billy’s hair and shoulders with clumsy hands. “It’s okay, Billy. It’s fine. Just-- take what you need.” 

So, Billy does. 

Steve loses track after a while. Gets lost in a haze of motion. Of pleasure. Of heat. 

He doesn’t know how many times Billy makes him come. Doesn’t know how many times Billy comes inside of him. All he knows is that, when Billy finally stops moving, when he finally gets soft, they’re both sweating and breathless and totally limp. All he knows is that, when Billy is finally finished-- no longer burning up-- Steve feels so fucking full that he might pop. 

When he looks, with bleary eyes, his skin is a mess of come and sweat. His cock is limp, spent, dribbling. There’s a little swell, just under his navel, like he ate too much. 

Billy takes Steve’s face in hand, tipping his head back, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear, for the first time, and his face looks pinched. Pained. 

“You okay?” 

Steve grunts. “Right leg’s ‘sleep.” 

“Oh,” Billy says, dropping one hand and rubbing at his thigh. “I mean-- I meant--” 

“Billy,” Steve mumbles. “S’fine. It was-- crazy. But… was good. M’tired.” 

“Yeah,” Billy nods; his hair is sticking to his forehead and Steve clumsy pushes it away. “Yeah, me too. I don’t, uh… I don’t think I can pull out, yet.” 

Steve blinks a few times and grunts. “Shirt.” 

“Shirt?” 

“Clean,” Steve mumbles, groping blindly to the side. “Just a little.” 

He snatches the shirt up and starts wiping at his stomach. Billy helps him, just as clumsy. 

“We should, um…. We should talk about this--” 

“Morning,” Steve says, and then reaches up to pull him down into a chaste kiss. “We’ll talk in the morning.” 

Billy grunts, eyes a little wide, but totally clear. “Okay. We’ll talk in the morning.” 

  



End file.
